The Free Radical

(Life Is a Long Song by Jethro Tull from their 1972 album Living in the Past… but this was taken from 20 Years of Tull five album set)

As my country (Canada) celebrates its birthday, we rejoice for reasons all our own, public and personal, as we stare into the scaffolding of the sun… Oh the light!

Remember Temperance… as Mercury stations direct again, unclogging our thought processes as we reach for the newest revelatory magic… and whatever Rodney may have done. The rewards for our patience are numerous and fun.

The petals of these lilies are some of my favourite flowers to nibble on. Not only are they pretty, but they’re crisp and mildly sweet. Now is the time when they surround the immediate environs of the swamp– rather abundantly.

The dogs too have their indulgences… I’m not too sure though what well-past-its-best-before-date critter Sitka has unearthed here.

The other two are more content to just contend for sticks in the wading (waiting) pool.

In the meantime, sharing these walks with proper herbalists yields valuable new knowledge. Pictured above are wild peas. The flowers are tastier than the finished pods… and both are rather abundant.

I’ve only been seriously foraging for about a year now and I’ve learned so much… yet I know for certain that I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of all that’s available. And maybe the best part is knowing that so many new discoveries still lie ahead!

It also seems that the more I interact with the living land around me, the more it responds to my appreciation and desire. The Earth ever bends her ear to compassionate service; whatever did we do to deserve such steadfast loyalty?

Life is indeed a long song… if we accept the many verses and refrains peeking out from even the unlikeliest places… The next weeks shall prove to be glorious! And then it really starts to get better!

(The Wizard covered by my band, Missing Peace, live in Whitehorse, written by Black Sabbath from their debut self-titled album from 1970)

The Ancient Sorcerers weren’t always sorcerers… but being sorcerers, it served their purposes well to allow their own history to fall into obscurity. What is not generally known is that prior to becoming sorcerers, they were revered as The Ancient StoryKeepers. It was need which pressed them from their positions as historians into service as a proactive force in formative machinations of Earthly politics.

Snapped off saplings standing as sentinels around the perimeter of a pristine meadow are sure warnings left by the Sasquatch People that “this area is occupied.” And the Sasquatch People even predate The Ancient StoryKeepers, so their memory in these matters is more than relevant… even if their willingness to share such with humans is less than reticent.

But Rodney had a pretty good idea what was what. He’d been raised by The Brethren and their seemingly endless tapestry of tales. Sure, it was mere deduction on Rodney’s part that had caused him to act… but he was pretty sure that he was right. He knew where the Ancient Sorcerers were “hiding.” And what’s more, he was sure that he understood what they were still capable of.

Even to this day, the inherent magicks of their ancient legacy infected the area with portals between dimensions and the bleed-throughs of anomalous critters where the veils between realities overlapped. The strange thing about strangeness though, mused Rodney, was that you really had to pay close attention in order to notice it. Modern humans had an uncanny ability for protecting their ignorance even in the face of compelling evidence. “Ah! Made you look!” Well, no. It may have appeared as though I looked, but I assure you I didn’t see a thing.

Soon enough, nodded Rodney. Soon enough it won’t be deniable by the masses anymore. When the Ancient Sorcerers break free from their long entombment, no one will shut their eyes to that!

“Rodney! What did you do?” The call echoed through the Forest…

(See You At the Meeting by Kieskagato from their 2004 album You, Are the One, Who Can)

All the huff and bluster of the Forest’s collective consternation piled like clouds against the mountains, filling the Valley with an unsettled feeling.

Daisy craned her neck to get a better look… as to see what was going on…

Even the Tigers came out… all stiff and serious. (“What? A tiger? In Africa?” This is Canada. “Never mind.”)

Homes in the Burroughs stood vacant…

…as each of the Forest Nations convened emergency meetings to discuss the latest developments. Endless chatter in every direction filled the glades.

Those who couldn’t attend remembered back to when the world was still young and they met to fine-tune the Earthly experience. Who could ever forget when the Clover Elementals decided that White Clover blossoms would taste like nachos? At the time, nacho cheese hadn’t even been invented yet… but that was no barrier to Elemental mischief.

So what was all the fuss? The sky hadn’t fallen; the Earth didn’t quake… but something had been shaken up, something had been awakened. The Forest had known this energy before. To say that it was ancient could only diminish its mystery, for it was beyond old; it was foundational.

Crow medicine hung heavy in the air, lingering… as the Raven Nation asked again in stark seriousness “Rodney, what did you do?”

But Rodney wasn’t very forthcoming with satisfactory answers. For a gossip-loving raven, he was being rather tight-lipped. In fact, the only way that Rodney could be any more tight-lipped about the whole affair was if he’d actually possessed lips. Lips can easily form a tight seal; crooked beaks… not so much. (Have you ever watched a bird try to operate a drinking straw?)

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Rodney as he wheeled amidst their shouts. “I poked the sleeping bear,” he added with a wink… and then immediately thought to himself: Perhaps I’ve said too much…

(excerpt from The Watchmaker by Steve Wilson from his 2013 album The Raven That Refused to Sing and other stories)

Any fool can pull a rabbit out of a hat, thought Rodney. But I was born into the Art… and just because you’re black– a Black Magician, no less– doesn’t mean that you’re hellbent on evil… just a little mischief, just to stir the pot, so to speak…

“Rodney! What are you doing?”

“Just look at yourself, you fool!”

“Remember the prime directive!”

Oh no, it was the Brethren! They’d always had difficulty keeping Rodney in line, but so far they’d kept him stifled, bottled up. They’d strong-armed him into to accepting his role as the eyes and the ears of the Forest, but Rodney was something more than that; he was the proactive urge that threatened to burst his heart if… if he didn’t do something!

Rodney took evasive action; he was in no mood for another scolding.

For two days already they’d argued back and forth, Rodney advocating an interventionist scheme, while the others were more than content to just let the One Life play things out in a more sanctified manner. But Rodney was impatient, and what’s more, so were they. They wanted Rodney’s intervention, his sweet black magic.

And besides, Rodney had spent time at the reflecting pool. He’d meditated– deeply.

He was no skittery waterbug, skating atop the mere surface of things. No, he was good and ready to dive-bomb the shit out of this reality!

The World yearned for a catalyzing event, something to rip off the painted mask of a floundering leadership. It wasn’t like Rodney was planning on creating something wholly new; even he knew that wasn’t his place. No, he just was going to work with the elements that were already in motion… and give them a little nudge… kind of like “accidentally” bumping into a stumbling, bumbling drunkard. Everyone was expecting him to tumble to the ground anyway; Rodney was just hastening the process.

What good was it possessing black magic anyway, if you couldn’t help the natural course of events along? Yes, Rodney felt the correctness of his view as he cawed the incantation. He waved the magic feather– which one was the magic one? That was something no raven would ever reveal, not even Rodney.

Now all that was left was to wait… and not very much longer at that…

It’s the New Moon. It’s the anniversary of The Daily Forest Report. This is the 366th post on this blog (a year plus a day’s worth… or, a leap year).

And this is a lunar month featuring Crow/Raven energy which focuses on the magic of creation.

(Barber of Seville composed by Gioachino Rossini performed by The London Classical Players conducted by Roger Norrington)

(Those who are around my age– 50ish– will, of course, insist “That’s not Rossini; that’s Bugs Bunny!” Yes, yes it is. And when we were young we were unable to fully appreciate the irony of Elmer Fudd– a bald man– being Bugs’ cohort in a classical piece centred around a barber shop. Such good fun!)

Raven dominated the scene. From the first moments of our walk, we were being vocally harassed.

These were just two of a troupe numbering four or more. It only took a moment to figure out what they were on about.

Sitka stole their dead rabbit! Bugs was old… and by the looks and the smell of things, he’d been long dead. Sitka desperately wanted to roll in his remains, but I deftly deflected her intent in this regard.

The entrance to his burrow was already overgrown…

…but that didn’t stop Sitka from climbing halfway in anyway. “Anyone home!” she shouted– I think; it was pretty muffled after all. Alas, there was nobody home. Nature’s renovations were already in full swing.

And for the second day in a row, another group of Ravens was boisterously discussing Summer Magic down near the end of Sasquatch Alley.

Here’s Lhasa waiting for me to catch up. Every time we get close to Raven’s heated debate, silence ensues until we pass. Secret arrangements are being made behind the scenes. With a wink and a nod, Raven assures us that we will be pleased with what’s coming– a show that will seem truly magical to children and adults alike. I can hardly wait!

I just wish Elmer and Bugs were still around for this!

You can’t argue with butterflies about what’s impossible… They’ll just say “Watch this.”

(Kundalini Express by Love and Rockets from their 1986 album Express)

And four Ravens quarrelling over the finer points of our best philosophy sounds exactly like a troupe of monkeys fighting over the last bruised banana. (I’m pretty sure there’s some good allegory in that image… somewhere.)

They were chattering on and on as we progressed down Sasquatch Alley. The dogs were all as curious as I… but we never did find out what all the fuss was about. As we passed them by you could see them taking furtive glances over their shoulders while trying awkwardly to make shushing sounds with their beaks, pretending a nonchalance solely for our benefit. But as soon as we’d passed, they resumed their debate with the very same gusto.

It’s been an emotionally charged time for us all lately, and a family of ducks at the river urged us to dive in and go with the flow, despite the raging current of the times. A gaggle of babies followed trustingly behind mother, peeping incessantly. Meanwhile, I learned beyond all doubt that Sitka can swim… as she wanted to join the ducklings, but the current was a bit rough for her puppy sensibilities. She quickly returned to shore.

It’s definitely a balance between being grounded to the Earth and simultaneously reaching for the stars. Onions are considered a root vegetable– which are great for grounding. But now, they’ve just begun their cycle of flowering which is their solar expression. I tend to eat mainly the flowers during this phase as the main stalk upon which the flowers grow tends to be very fibrous. Surprisingly, the flowers are the onioniest part of the onion. I wonder what the bees think of that as they gather the nectar! Also, it’s a great time for me to take stock of exactly how many onions there are out there, as the purple-flowered tops make them ridiculously easy to spot.

It feels still like we’re being stretched to our limits… but that’s because we haven’t quite accepted yet that there are no limits! Right Butterfly?

“Right!”

Sometimes the World seems a bit of a blockhead… but I’m only responsible for tidying up my own room.

(Save This House, title track by Spirit of the West from their 1990 album)

(Back when my band, Missing Peace, was still active, we shared the stage with this Vancouver band for our third annual Fairmont Mountain Music and Arts Festival. They were a fantastic headline act and a great bunch of guys!)

…And now for the Forest News:

Prior to June 20, the total mosquito count was 3. In the last few days the official count has surged to 4,566,905,321 (plus or minus 6). As I may have already mentioned, this is the physical manifestation of the unleashing of hordes of psychic parasites via the internet and cell phone technology which occurs every year on the days surrounding the solstice as a counterpunch to the natural influx of light on these longest days in the northern hemisphere. The controllers don’t want us getting any really bright ideas!

The counterpunch to the counterpunch is any effective form of psychic clearing (smudging, meditation, drumming, salt baths, etc.). If you haven’t tried them yet, you could also use the Soul Contract Revocation Scripts provided in the Sovereignty Tools category on this blog. Nearly all those who use them report on their profound effectiveness. I’ve written them all out and embedded audios including narration and musical accompaniment for fun and ease of use.

I think I’ve had enough puffballs now. The one pictured above is just on the verge of converting its innards into a goopy spore mass. It’s just formed a rubbery shell to protect its forthcoming progeny.

This is what it will look like a day later… still edible, but much less delectable.

The roses are celebrating with abandon… and I’ve begun collecting petals and leaves for a nice rose petal ale which I brew every year to the fawning accolades of local connoisseurs. I think it’s my most popular brew over the years, especially with the ladies… and the very “nicest” of boys.

All in all, everything is proceeding according to plan… and right on schedule. Oh what? You didn’t get the memo about the schedule? It was part of this month’s Newsletter. Here’s the audio links:

Tiptoe Through the Tarot Part 1
Tiptoe Through the Tarot Part 2

Once you accept the archetypal nature of what’s occurring, the revised timetable makes a lot of sense and gets most people off their addiction to hopium. It’ll be over before you know it!

And now I’ll join Torsoless Tom… relaxing in a tree…

(Memories of East Texas by Michelle Shocked from her 1988 “debut” album Short, Sharp, Shocked)

(Ever since March 2013, Michelle Shocked poses a little conundrum for me. At that time, she effectively ended her own career by issuing an insane homophobic rant onstage at a club in San Fran. All of her subsequent engagements were promptly cancelled as a result… and her career has been unable to recover. I’m left in the position of still really liking her music and appreciating her as an artist, but being simultaneously repulsed by her as a person. Now, you might say “But Niels, you’ve never met her…” and in that you’d be wrong.

During a music festival several years ago in Smithers BC for which Michelle Shocked was the headline act, I was fortunate enough to attend a songwriting workshop hosted by the quirky artist. That’s one of the perks of having a performer’s pass at such festivals; unknown artists such as myself get to mix, mingle and learn from the established artists in close intimate settings. Well, amidst a brief thunder shower, we gathered in a backstage area to await Michelle. The appointed time came and went and many of the performers gathered there figured she wasn’t going to show up, so they left. We were quickly thinned down to about a dozen people when her limo finally pulled up and a very apologetic Michelle Shocked tumbled out with guitar in hand and proceeded to take magnetic control of the scene very quickly. We were treated to an impromptu performance of Michelle walking around our circle singing into our faces from just inches away. I could’ve tweaked her on the nose if I felt so inclined. And after her inappropriate meltdown last year, I wish I’d have flicked her nose when I had the chance… flicked it hard! Anyway, she is a natural performer and obviously deeply artsy, so I’m trying my best to forgive her momentary lapse of reason… understanding that her grip on reality might actually be a bit tenuous.)

Now, back to the Report…

Right on cue, just as the Galactic Historian warned, a whole schwack of psychic parasites were unleashed during the days of the solstice. The physical manifestation of that infiltration into the collective was a dramatic upsurge in the mosquito population. Suddenly, they’re full-on!

A strategy that works well for me in coping with the clouds of parasites is to ride my mountain bike instead of casually strolling through the woods.

The mossies can’t keep up… and it gives me a chance to venture farther afoot on my daily excursions. There’s also the additional benefit of increased cardio… something which I have to give due consideration to now that I’m pushing 50. But so far, I’ve got to admit that 48 feels pretty damn good!

So we’ll see where the adventure takes us next… Sitka and me.

Fingers are going to fing…

As that surly old river comes to climax, we find our peace of mind in the low-lying grass.

(Peace of Mind by Boston from their 1976 self-titled debut album)

I think I’ve had enough of the puffballs now… and yet they just keep coming! Throughout the forest it’s like an army of legged oysters have been vomiting pearls.

But the real treasures are to be found in the open meadows. The gooseberries are just coming into ripeness now… but I’ve found that I much prefer the green ones to their purpled sweetness. When they’re still green, they’re tart and firm– crunchy even– like tiny green apples… a very refreshing sour.

And then as you stoop a bit lower… and look closely, it’s strawberry fields forever!

I knew that the wild strawberries had flowered profusely, but I wasn’t sure whether the pollinators had done their thing. Well, they have. Good job, pollinators!

They’re pretty small, but oh-so-tasty! The only real drawback to wild strawberry season is that you might spend the entire afternoon crawling around the fields getting strawberry stained… especially your fingers.

(Warning: bad joke up ahead.) Incidentally, strawberries and certain uncouth fags are the only fruits to wear their seed on the outside. Sorry about that; bad visual, I know.

All in all, though, these first days of summer hold great promise for our peace of mind… and as for the bad jokes… well, you can just put ’em in your deer leg pipe and smoke ’em!